


Spaceman

by UserError



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Avengers are kinda in the background ngl, BAMF Tony Stark, Bisexual Tony Stark, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Delusions, Depression, Evil Wanda Maximoff, Extremis, Extremis Tony Stark, F/M, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, I fuck with the timeline, Injury, Injury Recovery, Like shes actually the villian, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Thanos is coming, The Author Regrets Everything, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Tony causes Problems, Torture, Ultron? I dont know her, Whump, because i feel like shed be better as a villian, idk man, tagging is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UserError/pseuds/UserError
Summary: Tony Stark is a dead man. Spared only by technicality: The police don't have a body. Or any idea where it could be.After all, Hydra is known for human experimentation. They’re willing to do anything to get their hands on Extremis. Even if that means experimenting on a dead guy.Only, thanks to Extremis, Stark isn't dead. That's fine. They wanted him alive anyway. Would’ve had their way if one of their operatives- the Maximoff girl- hadn't screwed up.Not that she particularly cares if Stark lives or dies.Stark- unfortunately for Hydra- does care. And with the help of an ancient artifact- or hallucination- he might just get out alive.(Aka the Age Of Ultron AU nobody asked for.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Tony Stark.”

Sharpened nails dug into his scalp. Fingers threaded through his hair, curved around his cheeks. Sent spikes of pain through his skull and shivers down his back.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

The cool kiss of metal. A cuff closed around his ankle, like the mouth of a viper, fangs slotted into the skin and with it, a delirious sort of pain.

A cacophony of footsteps and yells. A flare of red, so bright it burned sparks into his eyelids.  
Hands in his hair, the muzzle of a gun pressed against his neck. More yells echoed in his ears. He was on his knees, hands tied, or cuffed, he couldn't be sure, behind him. Head forced backward. Blood on his shirt, on the floor.

“Godfuckingdamnit.”

Symbols crashed into one another, as he spoke, ignoring the dark blood. 

He spat, weakly, let the spittle drip down his front. Warm and wet. More vomit than anything else.

His tooth was gone. He realized. The one beside it dangled by a thread. And he could remember a kick to the mouth, one that had him biting his tongue and rubbing at his jaw.

“A month ago they declared you a dead man.”

The speaker, all black boots, laced halfway up, so the tops drooped over themselves. Grey, almost black leggings, hiding barely-visible darkish patches that were his blood. A skirt and jacket and he was looking at a pair of blazing eyes.

He just about pissed himself. (Or maybe he did, it wasn't like he had any control over his bladder when he was this drugged). Tony opened his mouth to answer and all that came out was a gurgle of pain. Clawed its way from chest like a bat out of hell, and he definitely did piss himself, then. Smelt it, acidic, soaked through his pants. Warm, and he wasn't above enjoying it. Not like anyone had plans to bring him a space heater.

“They were wrong,” he slurred. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

Idly, he bit at the strings of flesh that trailed from the empty socket. Rubbed his tongue over the wound. Again and again, until his jaw answered him with a flare of pain that set his head spinning. Back to when he was a little kid, and he still had the innocence to believe in things like the tooth fairy.

“Keep talking,” his torturer started, spat in his face. And he wished, not for the first time, to be free from the chains that held him to the fucking floor. “And I take this,” she tapped the reactor, making him flinch away, “out of your chest. See how long you can go without it.”

He nodded. Sure that if she knew the truth, his torturer would crush the device there and then, and he would have to watch. Staring into the gaping crater that was once his chest.

“They were wrong. You lived, didn't you? Picked up a nasty virus along the way.”

“Extremis,” he said.

And she knelt beside him, childlike. Started over him, and he couldn't imagine what he must have looked like. For a second, he entertained embarrassment. Preferred it to the other emotions that forced themselves through his head.

“Yes,” she said. “Stolen from someone much smarter than yourself.”

Tony’s own, blue, inhuman eyes, half-lidded and stupid. Still smirking, met red irises, black, pinpricks of a pupil, boarded by white, glassy, space.

“Probably.”

He growled and spat at her feet. Got a shock for that, a good one too, enough to scramble his brain.

The hands in his hair tightened, pulling out great chunks. Another shock. A slap in the face.

“Turned you into a bit of a freak, didn't it?”

“Oh, definitely.”

And this time, Tony was met with the horrible sound of his skull, smashed against the floor. More blood in his mouth, down his face. A chipped tooth, broken nose, probable concussion.

Face a bloody, bruised mess. And, thanks to his mostly-failed science experiment. The one that just happened to be on himself, the deepest gashes glowed an electric blue. And Tony wasn't sure if he could take it again. Something ought to be able to kill him.

“And last night. It was supposed to be your victory.”

Tony clamped his teeth over his tongue, stopped it from moving, like a cat, bit harder until he felt blood, soft flesh. So it pooled in his cheeks and trickled down his chin, sticky and vile.

_“The great Tony Stark everyone.”_

“Don't talk about that,” he said, finally. Kept his eyes off her face.

“Why not?” She replied. Smiled, the way a wolf might, revealing perfect teeth.

This time, when he opened his mouth, intended on breathing, it was all vomit. Mostly bile, stinking of alcohol. And it served to only make him feel worse.

“Thanks to you, it was a complete shitshow,” he said. Once he'd caught his breath.

No one could disagree. Not when, somehow, by the end of the night, he was a missing man. Kidnapped, from his own event. Tied up in the back of what he could only assume was a plane. With Loki’s staff stuck through his abdomen. Out his back, exit wound to the left of his spine.  
Bled out of his goddamn everywhere. Mouth, nose, chest, you name it. Screamed like a little bitch.

And now, a cherry on top of the sludge sundae, him chained in someone's basement. Suffering through a forceful, too forceful, for his liking, interrogation.

“How so?”

Tony jerked his ankle, kicked at the chain. His lungs sloshed, now, instead of breathed. Left him weaker than a kitten and stupider than one too.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“Unchain his hands,” she said. Nodding to the man that stood behind her.

The man stepped forwards, did just that. Roughly, so the metal cuffs scraped at his wrists, left bruises and gashes behind. Kept a gun to his back.

Tony smirked at that, and, unable to stop himself, he extended a burning hand, molten with Extremis. And wrapped his fingers around her ankle.

Burnt her skin, and she cursed. Eyes and fingertips splitting a reddish mist. A mist thick enough to choke on. Mingling with the scent of burning flesh and Tony’s blood.

Her foot came down on his fingers like an ax. A terrible cracking noise. And Tony screamed as the bones in his hand gave way, his power with it.

The gun went off, then, missing Tony completely. Bit into the floor, spat concrete.

“Don't shoot,” his torturer warned. “A broken hand is enough of a warning.”

Tony brought his hand to his chest, cradled it in his lap, and let tears of pain leak down his face. Gasped, vomited again, woozy with pain.

Pain, as he felt the ruined bones in his hand rearranging, popping and clicking against each other. His screams of pain ignored by Extremis. With each twist of bone came new cries, and soon, burst veins had his fingers coated with thick blood.

She laughed at him. Twisted and awful. Enough to make him sick, the screams, his screams, and the answering laughter. The dark, deep voices in the background. The way his hand no longer resemble anything close to correct human anatomy.

“Answer the question,” she demanded.

Tony stared at her blankly, mind fuzzy, moving at half the pace it normally did. Head spinning, he managed a confused grunt.

Realized pink tinged red with chunks, likely half digested blood was definitely not his color. And he should be sure to inform whatever idiot Pepper hired to make him look pretty.

“You killed her.”

“You need to be more specific.”

In the half darkness, Tony’s hands found his midsection, sans staff, leaking a horrific amount of blood. An oozy, soupy mess.

“My girlfriend Pepper Potts. You killed her.”


	2. Chapter 2

There was a metal _thing_ through his abdomen.

Wicked sharp. Curved. Pincer-like. Two puncture wounds, vertical, one just below his ribcage. The other, smaller. Barely a scrape, compared to the way the sharpest bit of metal had him pinned against the wall. Left leg bent underneath him, unnatural. The right extended outwards at an odd angle, sparking with pins and needles.

The shaft of the weapon protruded from his stomach, speckled with blood. His memories were hazy, but he was sure, he’d bet on it even, that minutes before, the weapon had collided with him. Pinned him against a wall.

He was in a ballroom, or, what he assumed had been a ballroom. Before someone with a strength that rivaled the Hulk showed up and trashed it. Stuck something unidentifiable and pointy through his stomach and left him.

Tony wrapped his hands around the shaft. Lifted them from where they clawed at his stomach, tried to staunch the blood that stained his shirt red. Slippery, they shook and slid.

His abdomen screamed, and, just like that, he remembered.

Pepper had told him a thousand times. _“Seven thirty, Tony. Be there by seven thirty.”_

And when she’d said _“there”_ she meant here. Where he half sat, half dangled beside a bar that looked like it had seen better days. Days where it wasn't a muddle of broken glass and spilled drinks.

He’d complied, dressed himself up; showered and shaved. Showed up on time, for once in his life.

That was probably a bad sign. Practically screamed that he'd fucked something up, and now he was trying to fix it; right his wrongs. Why else would he have agreed to go back to making public appearances? After New York and the December had that followed it.

If you asked anyone, they would have told you that Tony Stark died last year, right around Christmas time. That was the last anyone heard of him.

Then came the Mandarin attack. Ironman, spotted. Fighting super-powered baddies to the backdrop of an offshore oil rig. Environmentalism gone wrong? Nope. Just an off-his-rocker dead guy. Tony Stark; presumed dead, had saved the president for god's sake. And conspiracy theorists were raving.

Tony coughed. A wet, rough, sound that buzzed pain down his throat, lodged in his chest, stabbed, when it got to his lungs, the reactor. Lightning in the pit of his stomach. Blood oozed its way, slowly, from the twin punctures.

His tongue tasted dark with blood, and he knew he'd bitten it at some point. Likely when a piece of metal had driven him against the wall.

What the public hadn't known, was that Tony Stark was very much alive. Made the decision to stay out of the public eye while he attempted, and later succeeded, in curing Pepper of Extremis.

Afterward, he'd made a second, less amazing, decision. Sure, Extremis was volatile, destructive even. But wasn't it his job to fix things?

A needle that pricked his skin, the smell of antiseptic. A liquid that glowed. Purple bruising that blossomed from the injection site, wound its way, like smoke, up his left arm. And he'd screamed ‘till his eyes turned blue.

“I have eyes on Stark,” a voice barked, somewhere to his left, dragged him back to reality.

Followed by a form crouching beside him. A black smear against white walls, white ceiling. Pinpricks of bright light, kaleidoscopic ricocheted off the chandelier. Now on the ground; its glass crystals had exploded outwards. Bits and pieces that reflected the dimmed lighting. Scattered, in what must have been a ten-foot radius around the crushed metal frame.

“We have, uh, we have a problem.”

Extremis. He’d infected himself with Extremis. Slotted the needle into his flesh and crowed, triumphant. Thought he'd fixed himself, fixed everything. That was, until it started to burn, electrical, and he was staggering down the set of stairs that lead to his lab. Lay on a couch and focused muffling his own wails of pain.

Pepper had called an ambulance, when he refused to say what he'd done to himself. Shook his head and tried to hide the bruised-and-glowing mess of flesh that was his arm. Shoved it behind his back so she wouldn't see.

Tony had known she'd be displeased. But he'd never expected full-blown anger. Anger that flushed her cheeks and made her hands shake. And thank god he’d cured her of Extremis because if he hadn't, she’d have been damn terrifying.

That was two weeks ago.

The smudged bit of shadow that may or may not have been a hallucination, formed out of adrenaline and terror. Forced its fingers underneath Tony’s chin. Held his head in its hands, angled it upwards, so he was staring into a face.

A face that was no more than pinprick eyes with a displeased slash for a mouth

He tried to say something, then. A slurred mash-up of “can you get that?” Complete with a messy flick of his fingers in the direction of where the metal stick protruded, and “are you real?” Turned into a jumbled collection of sounds.

His tongue and lips failed spectacularly. Lolled and sagged, so that he had spit, frothy like a milkshake, dripping down his chin. Ran red over the hands that held his head in place.

“I've got him now. But you've gotta come quick if we want him alive.”

Tony opened his mouth, closed it when all that came out was a gurgle of pain.

_“You've heard the accusations. Do you have a rebuttal?”_

Apparently, he didn't, because, instead of words, he got more blood. Tingling in both his feet and all ten of his fingers, lightheadedness, too. It wasn't like death was something you could argue with. Was it so bad to go this way?

Mind, for the most part, foggy on how he'd gotten to this point. Knew it had something to do with Extremis and guilt.

“He’s impaled, yeah. By the bar. How long does he have? Minutes, maybe, I dunno. Do you want him alive or not?”

Tony tried to nod. Tried to signify that he very much did want to get out of this alive and someone better come quickly because according to this sorry bastard of a maybe-hallucination; that was how long he had left.

Even with the addition of Extremis, Tony had screwed up. 

_“Mr.Stark, it's possible. If you wanted, we could remove the reactor.”_

_“- it's not without risks.”_

_“Doesn't matter. I'm not interested.”_

What he hadn't said then, was that he’d rather inject himself with an unstable Superdrug. Imagined himself waking up to his chest cut open (again.), laid out in front of him, bits of rib. Blood pulpy with flesh.

“Alive? Then get your asses over here, right now. I swear.”

_“Yeah,” Tony thought. “Get your asses over here.”_

A wrenching tug and the pincers were gone. Replaced by a reddish pool, a blue glow, and scream that fizzled into a squeak.

_________________________________

Twenty-four hours later, in another country; Tony Stark was being interrogated by a witch.

And now Pepper was, she was-

Dead.

“My girlfriend; Pepper Potts. You killed her.”

Tony was positive that, in the future, when people asked him about this, he’d tell them the scepter through his abdomen felt like acupuncture from hell. He'd say it with a particular sort of vehemence, spit it fiercely at them, in that nonsensical way of his.

He pictured the conversation going something like this: _“Mister Stark. Tell us, what's it like to lose half the blood in your body?”_

_“You really wanna know?”_ He’d start, _“first off, its nothing, small potatoes. That is until you lose the ability to see straight.”_ Put on a real show for them, widen his eyes, grimace a bit, pretend thinking about it hurt.

In actuality; the pain wasn't that bad. In fact, Tony was settling in nicely. With the shitload of drugs they'd pumped him full of. That, combined with the shock, and he was little more than a limp puppet. Seconds from losing consciousness.

His kidnapper stepped forwards, and her foot came down, once more, on his already-broken hand. Tony jerked backward, breathing uneven. Terrified.

“No one will come for you.”

She opened with that. Fixed him with a wide grin. Her eyes stood out, twin points of color. Glowing red against concrete, muted grey. Blurred dullness, perceived through a mind turned to sludge.

Dried blood on his hands and face made his skin feel chalky. And he could feel tears as they ran down his face, blurred his vision.

Tony didn't realize he’d been trying to run until he felt the chain around his ankle pull taut. Trapped him like a fish on a line. Hook shoved through the gills.

_“I'll tell you firsthand how fun that was,”_ he'd pause there. Grin bitterly.

_“It wasn't.”_

Her eyes flickered back to his. And Tony got the sense she wanted to pry them from his sockets. He imagined it being itchy in the worst way possible as they regrew. How long would it take? _Minutes, Hours?_ Of him blinded. Sensory deprivation. That was a thing, right? No need for a blindfold when she could drag his eyes from his sockets.

Pepper would say he was being ridiculous. With his mental tangents. Granted, she was dead now, so maybe paranoia was the way to go.

“I want to show him the scepter,” his torturer said, to the man that stood beside her. “Bring it to me.”

She pinned him, held his hands and feet to the ground with her mist. So that all he could do was choke and curse at her.

Crusted with blood. The scepter was handed to the women. She considered it, for a half second. And Tony remembered the first time he came in contact with it. Around a year and a half ago. Right before an angry god had thrown him out a window.

“How’d you get that?”

He couldn't help himself. Up until that point he'd been sure, one hundred percent, that Thor had given it to Shield. Right after the battle of New York. And that right now it should be locked up somewhere, underground likely. In some fancy, high-tech vault where it would never again see the light of day.

Definitely not in some terrorist’s basement torture cell.

And then. “Don't do that, it won't work anyways. Please don't do that.”

If they wanted to mind control him, they would have to use something a little more potent. The thing hadn't worked on him before he doubted it would work this time, as it seemed to have an issue with the rector.

“I wasn't planning on it,” she replied. “Not yet anyway. You and me, we need to talk first.”

Tony got it. She wanted to see what he was willing to tell her, when he wasn't, not completely, anyway (the drugs _had_ to have some effect), free of any and all inhibition.

Tony realized she knew. She was fully and intimately aware of what the scepter could do, and he'd been counting on her knowledge. But, the implications of it, the fact that she could have done this to countless people, made him sick.

“If you try anything,” she started. “Remember, I control if you live or die.”

“Got it. Not much I can do when you've got my hands and feet-” he tried to wrench his wrists free from the hold of her mist. Jerked his arms painfully, but nothing gave. And she smirked at his failed attempts.

“How much do you know about this?” she asked, gestured to the scepter.

Her grip on the reactor tightened, and Tony flinched.

“That thing made Captain America lose his shit,” Tony hissed, spat blood. Ducked his head as he felt more of the stuff spill over his lips. “Damn near berserk, he wanted to fight me. I don't think it's doing you any favors.”

Shortly after the chitauri invasion, he'd done an interview. They’d asked him about Loki’s staff, and he'd been happy to oblige them.

He had a feeling his willingness to talk, then, had lead to this. Anyways, “happy to oblige them,” was a bit of an overstatement. When, in reality, Shield had pressured him to reassure the public, make sure the Avengers got a good rap.

It hadn't worked, not in the slightest. Tony, who had spent that particular interview trying not to puke. As they asked question after question. Un-tactfully drilling him on everything from Loki to the wormhole. The wormhole, which had Tony excusing himself, bolting. Got a lecture from Pepper and Fury for that one.

“Idiot. You studied it. I know you did, we have Shield records. All your findings.”

_“Then why do you need me?”_ was the first thing that came to mind. The second being that they had Shield data. Shield had a leak, fuck, Shield; who, for the most part, controlled the Avengers, had a leak. A damn big one too, if they'd managed to smuggle out what Furry, at least, would have dubbed the crown jewel of alien technology.

“Hi, yes, I studied it. For all of five seconds,” his heart thumped, painful against his reactor. And Tony knew he was edging his way to a full blown panic attack.

He bit back something about how they already had his research anyway. And that if they wanted a scientist, they should have kidnapped Bruce. A statement that could get him murdered, as they came to their senses and realized how useless he was.

Unless they wanted a nuke or a suit of armor, they had no business coming to him.

“Tell me what you know,” she persisted.

“It's alien tech,” he started. "The scepters’ sweet and all, but, at the end of the day, all its really good for, besides stabbing people, thanks for that by the way.” Tony eyed the gash in his abdomen.

Extremis had helped quite a bit. Coated it with a glowing blue membrane. If Tony were to rip it open, easily a possibility, he would go right back to spilling his guts all over himself.

“Is housing the stone. _That's_ what makes it tick,” Tony stopped, paused for breath.

He ducked his head. Rubbed his mouth against his shoulder in an attempt to wipe at the blood that threatened to spill from it.

“Also, I wasn't lying, before, when I said it made Cap lose his shit. Screws with your perception if you're not careful.”

For a second, Tony thought he could see a flash of fear flicker in her unnaturally red eyes. But it was gone as fast as it came, along with the slight flinch that accompanied it.

“I don't have to worry about that,” she said, self-assured.

“I promise you, me and the stone, we have an understanding of sorts.”

Tony snorted. “Sure. I don't give a fuck if that thing is the reason you went batshit.”

That idiot, Loki, decided a single-handed attempt to take over an entire planet would work. He'd been like her. Deluded. And, in the end, It hadn't worked out for him. Tony was inclined to believe it wouldn't work out for her either.

She seemed to have moved on entirely.

“I know it didn't work, last time. When that god tried to control you,” she gazed over him.

Her fixation with him, the reactor, her questions, made what she planned on doing to him crystal clear.

“Mhm, so what makes you think it will work now?”

It wouldn't work, Tony knew. The reactor worked to disrupt whatever method, magic or science, he had no idea, the scepter used to get in his head. He just had to hope that she wouldn't kill him, out of anger, when she found that out.

“You misunderstand me, Stark; I want your element.”

It made sense, on a surface level. Made sense they, whatever organization it was that had him, would want reactor-based technology. And it made sense that they wanted him dead, because, if they intended on using the scepter, they wouldn't want him around. Immune. Also, bonus, taking Ironman out of commission. Permanently.

It was clear that, though they were willing to use the scepter, they feared it. At least a little bit. And capturing him, forcing him to share his technology. That was their version of a safety net. Preemptive measures and all.

“Not happening.” Tony heaved a shaky breath.

“You don't get to decide that,” she replied.

He was vulnerable like this. Stomach torn to shreds, with his hand resembling a bad Halloween decoration. More spider than hand, with too-red paint gushing from it. The plastic, slightly bendy bones painted a bright white. Peels of paint already sliding off the damn thing. Soon enough it'd be worse. Soon enough he wouldn't have a heartbeat.

She brought the scepter down. Almost in slow motion, hard enough it pierced the glass that protected the reactor.

The blow seemed to grate against his spine. Felt like shed turned the vertebrae into a gruesome instrument. And this was the first, agonizing note of her performance.

And then all hell broke loose.

The reactor flickered, beneath his shirt, Tony felt it, painful, akin to a foot coming down on his ribcage.

The staff, turned into a conductor, fizzled with energy. And she dropped her hand from the hilt, wrung it out, with a grimace of pain.

The end of it stuck comically from the reactor. Broken glass and blue light.

She cursed, and Tony screamed. She tugged the staff free, then, wrapped burnt digits around the hilt and pulled. The thing came free, spat lighting as it went. His torturer recoiled. Set the scepter down.

Looked at him like he really did run on some semblance of coding and batteries. His last delirious thought.

“Careful,” he grated out, tasted metal, as sparks pop rocked off his tongue. “I'm telling you, break the reactor and I'm dead. Cardiac arrest. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes.”

She knelt beside him. Unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, rubbed the pad of her thumb against his chest, mostly scar tissue. Stopped, when she got the reactor.

Shoved her fingers between the casing and his skin, pulled, hesitant. And it hurt because if she was trying to remove the damn thing she was doing it all wrong and oh boy did it hurt.

“Fine. You got me. I lied. It won't kill me. Is that what you want to hear? I lied. I'm a liar. Extremis won't let me die,” he coughed up. “You might have the shield files. Doesn't mean much to me, they cut off contact with me after I decided to give myself superpowers.”

She shrugged, nonchalant, “you didn't have to tell me that. Either way, I win.”

She was right; Tony realized. Either way, she would win. And sure, option A, his death was less-than-preferable, but they would still have the reactor. Option B would see him as a mind-fucked good-for-nothing zombie, stuck as a puppet in someone else show.

He was wheezing, in his terror, vision blurred. Alternating between snarled threats and pleading whimpers.

She ignored him. Tore at the device with inhuman strength. A wrenching tug, an audible grating sound, the warm feel of blood, blood that dripped down his chest. Something moved, shifted, and suddenly, it was easier to breathe.

It wasn't worth the pain that followed. Pain that had Tony screwing his eyes shut. Screaming something about how it needed to be over soon and she should just let him die already because soon his heart would be nothing more than hamburger meat, and please stop. He’d do anything to make it stop.

The casing had all but fallen out of his chest, angled awkwardly. So it scraped against his ribcage, there was blood there, raw skin.

Tony tried not to piss himself out of pure panic, focused on her hands, cold, as they tore the reactor from his chest. She held it to her face, seemed fascinated by it. As if it was a real human heart after all, not just a device.

His eyes went from the hole in his chest, the casing, askew. To the wires that trailed from it, still attached to the reactor in her hands. Bloodied, they looked more like innards then machinery, slimy and red.

Tony let out a shuddering sound of disgust, as his hands sparked with anger. He watched the sparks, instead of her. And they danced across the floor, fizzled out.

She loomed over him, wiped blood off the reactor, her hands, onto her leggings, where it smudged darkly.

And Tony found himself wondering if she planned on breaking the wires. Taking him off his life support. Wondered if it would kill him. Or if it would leave him in all-consuming agony until Extremis decided to do its job and resuscitate him. Let his heart play catch-up as it tried to compensate for stopping.

It happened suddenly; a sharp tug on the reactor. A jolt of pain, the metallic sound of the device clattering against concrete.

Tony forced his eyes shut. turned his head away from her. All too aware of the way his heartbeat was starting to feel clumpy. how it was getting harder and harder to breathe. He wondered how long it would take for Extremis to burn the shrapnel away.

Retched sharply. On his back, choked on bile and slippery blood.

Tony tried to draw a breath, fight the impending lightheadedness. His lungs felt like a vacuum lodged with applesauce. His chest glowed like a bed of coals.

He needed to be logical about this. He wouldn't die. He knew that. Next time. What would he do, if this ever happened again?

_“Blow up the reactor,”_ was his first thought. It’d be easy enough to overload the thing, with Extremis. _“Before that,”_ he practically wailed to himself, _“what would you do before that, genius?”_

_“Not get yourself kidnapped.”_

Uneven rock dug itself into his legs and back. Red mist wrapped itself around her like a cloak.

_“Before that, you idiot.”_

He was talking, gurgled something about how this was shit, this was goddamned shit. Worse than Afghanistan, worse than the wormhole, worse than the time Rogers had told him he was nothing like his Father. Seemed disappointed about it too. Like he had no idea Howard was worse than the scum lining the bottom of his shoes. 

He stopped short as his heart gave out altogether. Like a car breaking down at the side of the road. Coughed and sputtered until it gave up altogether.

_“There's nothing we could have done. The patient died, heart stopped. Flat-lined. Oh, about ten seconds ago. We’ll see what we can do, shock him back to life, then shock him a bit more, for funsies.”_

The masochistic part of him wanted to laugh, throw his head back, really get into it. He obliged it, cackling bitterly, as tendrils of spit and blood slid down his face, as blood poured from his chest.

_“Three...two...one… Administering shock now. Everyone clear.”_

_“Feel that? That's the shrapnel, slicing your heart to bits.”_

A grey blur of pain. And he checked to see if he was on fire. His chest. Ribcage. On fire. Full of broken bones. He screamed so loud, he was sure, that right now, his jaw had flown wildly off its hinges, and he was going to die. Right here, right now. Spontaneous combustion.

_“Stay clear, don't touch him. I swear, he’ll shock the life outta you.”_

_“Strike three. Stark’s out.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, cliffhanger.  
> I clearly suck at timing, because i'm going to take a few weeks off for the holidays (and to clean up my outline) after this chapter, so, you guys are going to have to wait even longer. Hopefully it's not that painful.  
> Oh boy, you guys have no idea what I went through to get this chapter up.   
> I had to rewrite an entire scene like, two days ago, and lemme tell you, that was nOt fun. I'm talking hours spent staring at a blank document trying to come up with a sentence. Somehow, I, surprisingly, managed to get my shit together and post this chapter on time.  
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Feel free to yell at me in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> With the Endgame trailer, I decided to get my ass in gear and post the fic i've been working on for a few months  
> The prologue is like, significantly shorter then any of the other chapters, unfortunately for me, as the complete fic was only supposed to be around 40000 words, and the unedited fifteen chapters already exceed that.  
> I thought id ramble more, but, rambling over, I guess.  
> Ill try to post weekly, but idk, it might be a few weeks before that happens. We shall see.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around for more of my bullshit.


End file.
